


Limits

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables RPF
Genre: M/M, Negotiations, On Set, Tears, Testing limits, Verbal Humiliation, method acting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-21 17:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17647016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: Soon enough, once they’re in Belgium, there’ll be hate, a deep-rooted obsession, an ever-present need to grab his shirt and shove him against the nearest wall before he drags him off to jail.Still, for now, there need to be rules. There have to be. He needs to be able to trust that he can go as hard on Dominic as the script—as the character—demands. And he must know that Dominic will allow him to be as brutal as he needs to be.





	Limits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TwelveLeagues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwelveLeagues/gifts).



> My apologies to David Oyelowo who comes across as the sweetest person on earth in every interview. (When he isn't talking about staying in character as Javert for 6 months and having to stay away from Dominic West so he could continue to hate him...)
> 
> Thanks to iberiandoctor for her help with this.

“So. Limits.”

David leans back in his chair, looking Dominic up and down as he frowns in response.

“Limits?” Dominic repeats.

David inclines his head.

Dominic thinks for a moment—or maybe he’s just pretending to think. David is never quite certain. But this is a conversation they need to have.

They’ve read the script together, David has immersed himself in both the series’ text and the actual novel, and by now, he is able to let himself sink securely back into the character inside him. A sternness is taking over when usually, Dominic’s easy-going nature would charm him into smiles.

There’s more hidden within David. Even looking at Dominic now, he can feel it tugging at him—a distaste welling up in him, a deep suspicion, the awareness that something’s wrong and that it’s on him to set things right.

Eventually, he’ll have to make certain to avoid Dominic. He isn’t sure how the man will take that—probably not well, he deduces from the fact that Dominic West has been trying very very hard to be the charming centre of every room he enters.

But Javert—David—can’t afford to love him. Soon enough, once they’re in Belgium, there’ll be hate, a deep-rooted obsession, an ever-present need to grab his shirt and shove him against the nearest wall before he drags him off to jail.

Still, for now, there need to be rules. There have to be. He needs to be able to trust that he can go as hard on Dominic as the script—as the character—demands. And he must know that Dominic will allow him to be as brutal as he needs to be.

“I’m going to be in character for the next six months,” David says, watching Dominic calmly. “And you’ve seen the script. It’s going to be brutal. I need you to fear me. And I’m going to hurt you, and take pleasure in it. So we need to have this conversation. _Limits._ What are yours? How hard can I go?”

Dominic grins—that wide, irresistible grin he’s shown all the reporters they’ve faced together so far. “I don’t know. How hard _can_ you go?” he asks with an exaggerated look towards David’s groin.

He doesn’t falter even when David remains unimpressed. If anything, his smile widens.

“No matter how hard, I can take it. Do what you have to.” Dominic sounds confident. He isn’t fazed even the slightest bit by David’s distance.

Interesting. David wonders how far he’ll have to go to crack that composure. How far to go to get to the bottom of that man—to where his darkest secrets are hidden.

“No limits then. Very well.” David’s lips twitch a little, because he knows that Dominic is wrong. Everyone has limits. Which means it’ll be his job to find them, because they’ll have to take their characters far past their breaking point.

“Looking forward to chaining me up?” Dominic laughs, his skin creasing around his eyes. “They want me to get my ass out. Of course, I’ve never minded that sort of thing. It’s quite fun, being objectified. It’s why I do all that yoga. Hey, you should join me sometime, it’ll do you good—”

“Are you looking forward to getting chained up then?” David raises an eyebrow. “It’ll take a couple of shots. You’ll be cold. And those chains are heavy.”

Dominic laughs again, then idly takes a sip from his glass. Irish whiskey, he’d said. David has, of course, refused the offer.

“Can’t say that I don’t,” Dominic says thoughtfully. “And you’re going to get a good view of me. How do you like that?”

David smiles a little. Inside him, in the space that has grown in size during every day he’s spent immersed in the script and the world they’re going to create, there’s an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. Arrogance, even.

He’ll be in charge. Dominic’s going to be at his mercy. And not a second is going to pass during that scene when he isn’t going to make certain that the convict in front of him knows what he is, and who has all the power.

“You think you’re the only convict I’ve ever seen naked?” he says, leaning forward a little. “You think I like staring at your dick?”

“I think you will,” Dominic says confidently. “Think about it. Why is that guy so obsessed with Valjean? He wants to shag him, obviously! In the end, it always comes down to sex.”

“Don’t be crass,” David says sharply. “That is absolutely not my character motivation. All I’m going to be thinking about is how disgusting you are. You’re a criminal. You’re trash. The lowest of the low.”

“If that’s what gets you off,” Dominic quips.

David laughs softly, still holding Dominic’s gaze. He thinks of the script. How Dominic has transformed at the first reading from obnoxious and charming to quiet and sullen anger, then to quiet laced with a hint of fear.

It’s true. David’s looking forward to seeing him in chains. He’s looking forward to arresting him. Most of all, he’s looking forward to seeing him break. To making him break.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” David says. “You think you’ve got me figured out. You haven’t, though. You think this is about sex? That says more about you than it says about me. Do you think I don’t know what you are? The way you’ve got to be the centre of attention every time you enter a room. The shit you say in interviews.”

Dominic laughs, rueful and unapologetic at the same time. “I know. They all tell me I should just shut up, but—”

“That’s an act too,” David says without emotionless. “Playing the guy with no filter, saying anything that comes to mind. You think it makes you come across as charming and honest. I’ve read your interviews. I’ve seen you give them. The reason you come across as an arsehole is because that’s what you are.”

Dominic straightens a little. David can see his hit a nerve. The tiniest crack in Dominic’s armour—but of course, he’s used to the media. He’s used to people digging. This is Dominic’s job; if he couldn’t just shake this off, he wouldn’t be here.

“I know,” Dominic sighs. “At first I thought they just make me sound like an arsehole when they edit the interviews. But when you sound like an arsehole in every interview you’ve ever given...”

“That’s an act too,” David says ruthlessly. “That whole self-depreciation thing. You think it makes you sound charming and down to earth. But if you didn’t think you were more special than anyone else, you wouldn’t keep going on about it. But I can see right through it.”

This time, it takes a heartbeat before the corners of Dominic’s mouth rise up. “I know,” he says. “That’s what people keep saying.”

He has an unfair advantage, David knows that. They aren’t friends; they’re working together for the first time. This is their first real meeting all alone, without producers or press hovering around them. And Dominic’s so needy for approval that his armour isn’t entirely in place. David can see the cracks.

In another time and place, he’d allow himself to be charmed by Dominic. The man seems to be fun: he’s easy-going, charming, he drinks more and curses more than David would like, but he’s good at his job, and good at heart.

But David can’t allow himself to be charmed. He’ll need to be ruthless. He needs to be in a place where he’ll feel no mercy. Where seeing Dominic at his lowest will just make him long to bury his knife in his heart and twist it, and to believe that every single tear is a sign that this man is getting exactly what he deserves.

And he needs Dominic to be afraid of him. To be unsettled. Always on edge around him.

“You’re needy,” David says. “Obnoxiously needy. You want to be my friend? Why would I want to be the friend of someone like you? Oh, I’ll pretend for the press—but in ten years, when no one gives a shit about you or this show, I’ll let them know the truth. That we didn’t speak on set because you were a nightmare to be around. Clingy like a child. Constantly in need of attention.”

Dominic’s no longer grinning. It’s a start. Instead, he’s shifted a little in his chair, sitting straighter now. He doesn’t look insulted, but there’s a thoughtfulness to his gaze.

Surely he knows on some level that David is doing what he said he would—testing his limits. But there’s a truth to what David is seeing. David knows he has hit the holes in his armour by the way Dominic’s shoulders have gone tense.

“You aren’t the first to claim that either,” Dominic then admits with a little sigh.

There’s that self-depreciation again. But they’ve already established that it doesn’t work on David.

“Is that why you want me to want to fuck you?” David asks mercilessly. “Is that how it always goes with you? I can see why—it’s pretty much the only thing you’ve got going for you. If someone even wants you after everyone who’s already had you.”

Dominic tilts his head a little, his smiles coming slower now. “There’s something to say for experience.”

“You call it experience. I’d call it by a different name.” David leans forward again, then slowly licks his lip before he continues to speak. “Is that why you took the job? Not because of the money, or all that bullshit about how Valjean’s a superhero. Is it because you know it’s your last chance to show your ass on TV? You’re getting too old for this. This is the last time they’ll want to see it on a screen. You’re not the romantic lead. You’re not the leader of the revolution. You aren’t even that rich arsehole who seduces Fantine. You’re past that point in your career.”

“Thank heavens.” Dominic laughs. “Do you know how many bum shots they got of me in The Affair?”

David doesn’t take the bait. “Oh, you don’t mean that. You love the attention.”

“I’d let you be on top,” Dominic jokes. “If that’s what this is about. It would be your ass on camera then.”

“But that isn’t what you want, is it? You want to be _desirable_.”

David reaches out. He touches Dominic’s cheek, very gently, following a cheekbone, then moving downwards. Dominic has fallen abruptly silent. It’s a relief. And it’s rewarding.

Oh yes, David could get used to that expression of wariness in his eyes. It’s a start.

“You’re so desperate to think that I love you that you’re ready to tell the press that you think my character wants to fuck yours. My character, who loathes yours. Who believes in justice, in order. Who has only one goal in life, which is to make you pay for your crimes. I was wrong. It’s not crass at all.”

David leans a little closer—he’s so close now that when he exhales, he can see Dominic swallow, his pupils wide and dark. Arousal, or fear? He’ll have him there, soon enough.

“It’s pitiful,” he breathes, then releases Dominic’s face just as quickly as he leans back in disgust.

Dominic—doesn’t quite flinch, but he starts. It’s not what Dominic was expecting.

Did he really think that David would fall for him? David, who’s going to spend the next six months living the life of a man who hates him above all others? It’s laughable.

David doesn’t want to kiss him. He wants to slap that obnoxious smile off his pretty face and see if he can make those eyes fill up with tears.

“ _You’re_ pitiful. But you know that. You know that there’s no reason why anyone would want to spend time with you. That’s why you’re playing the clown. And now that you can’t even play the lover anymore, you’re constantly reminded by every role you’re offered that you’re old. You’re old. And growing older—and so are your kids.”

He’s got Dominic now. He can see that. There’s something vulnerable in the lines around Dominic’s mouth.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” David continues mercilessly. “All that bullshit about taking your kids on a holiday for a few months next year, forcing them to spend time with you. You know you haven’t been around enough. In a few years, they’ll be too old to want to spend their time with you. Not because they’ll be teenagers. But because you haven’t been around enough. They’ll be old enough that your little act won’t fool them anymore. They’ll be embarrassed by you. And what will you have left?”

Dominic’s quiet now.

“Do you think in ten years, anyone’s going to give a shit whether they got to see your bum on telly? They won’t even remember your name. And your kids will live their own lives. In twenty years, maybe you’ll see them at Christmas, and that’s it. They won’t want you around, because they’ll have seen through you. Just like everyone else, they’ll know that behind the mask of the clown, there’s absolutely nothing of worth. Just a pitiful man who was so greedy for attention he chose to spend their entire childhood away from them, just to get people to talk about his bum.”

No reply. David has hit his mark. It was an obvious mark, of course, but Dominic isn’t a complicated man. It’s effective, anyway, and Dominic was the one who didn’t want to set limits.

Now the lines around Dominic’s mouth have deepened, his eyes are dark with hurt, and there’s a tell-tale gleam there.

David leans in again, his voice still cold. “And you’re doing that for attention, too.”

Dominic swallows, and there it is—a tear gleaming on his lower lid.

David reaches out and gently touches it with a fingertip. Dominic still trusts him enough to let him touch.

Dominic swallows. “Okay. That’s enough.”

His voice is a little shaky. There’s something in his eyes now that David expects he’ll see a lot of during the next six months. Wariness. Uncertainty. Not fear yet—but this’ll make it easier.

With a thoughtful sound, David leans back in his chair again as he rubs his fingers together. There’ll be more tears later, on set. Anyway, it’s a start.

Inside him, the personality he’s been allowing to take over is pleased, amused even. There’s something very appealing to the sight, Dominic silent for once, his eyes wet.

With that obnoxious charm gone, Dominic’s all vulnerability. It rouses something inside him—but Dominic’s wrong about the nature of it. It’s not about sex, what they’re going to play out. It’s about justice. It’s about satisfaction—to see the right thing done. To know that it’s _him_ who’s putting this man back in his place.

David smiles a little. Then he gets up. He makes it to the door before Dominic’s recovered enough to speak.

“That’s just him though, right?”

David can hear the unspoken question.

_It’s not you who hates me?_

He turns around for one last look at Dominic. When this is all over, maybe he’ll need to reassure him. He can only imagine what half a year of acrimony is going to do to a man so emotionally needy.

Still, that’s for later. The man David’s going to allow to take over for half a year has no use for compassion or mercy. And for these six months, this is how he needs Dominic to look at him. This is how he needs Dominic to _react_ to him—with a deep, instinctive fear, a visceral reaction to his closeness that’s that of a hunted animal driven into a trap. He needs Dominic to be on edge—and to know that there won’t be any mercy, no matter what.

David leaves without another word. When he closes the door behind him, he can still see the gleam of tears in Dominic’s eyes.

There’s a certain pleasure in driving that sort of man to the breaking point. It’s just not what Dominic thinks it is. It’s not about sex. It never was.

It’s a burning obsession, built on self-hatred. But that’s all it is. And all it will ever be.


End file.
